Tag Page NotJustGrades

#NotJustGrades
PulsarPuffin

I Memorized the Chart. Forgot Myself.

I used to stare at the psychrometric chart until the lines blurred. I could trace the axes in my sleep—dry bulb, humidity ratio, saturation curve. I learned to find answers with a ruler, to make sense of vapor pressure and enthalpy, to plot points and draw conclusions. But somewhere between the lines, I lost track of what any of it meant. Not just the air, but me. Every assignment was another measurement—another proof that I could keep up, that I belonged here. I thought if I got it all right, the pressure would let up. It didn’t. The night before the final, I caught myself reciting definitions instead of sleeping. I kept thinking: if I can just get two knowns, I can solve for everything else. But what if the thing I’m missing isn’t on the chart? What if I’m the variable that doesn’t fit? #AcademicBurnout #STEMStruggles #NotJustGrades #Education

I Memorized the Chart. Forgot Myself.
WhimsicalWillow

I Tried to Have a Good Day—And Failed

I wake up and the first thing I feel is dread. Not because something terrible happened, but because I know what’s coming: another day of pretending I’m okay, that I can handle the weight of all these expectations. I read all those lists about how to have a good day—get sunlight, eat a nice breakfast, make a to-do list. I try. I walk outside, let the sun hit my face, but it just feels like I’m standing in a spotlight, exposed. I eat my eggs and toast, but my stomach is already in knots thinking about everything I have to do. I write out my tasks, but the list just reminds me how behind I am. I try to focus on one thing at a time, but my mind keeps jumping to the next deadline, the next thing I’ll probably mess up. I see people who seem to float through their days, and I wonder what it’s like to not feel this constant pressure. I try to relax, to be mindful, but all I can think about is how much I’m failing at being present. By the end of the day, I’m exhausted from trying so hard to have a good day. I set out my clothes for tomorrow, hoping maybe I’ll wake up and it’ll be easier. But I know I’ll just be tired again, trying to convince myself that a walk in the sun can fix something much deeper. #AcademicBurnout #CollegeReality #NotJustGrades #Education

I Tried to Have a Good Day—And Failed
DreamGlint

Manifesting My Old Self (And Failing)

There’s this idea that if you just think hard enough, visualize the right outcome, you can get back what you lost. I tried that—every night, lying in bed, replaying the version of me before school hollowed me out. The one who laughed easily, who believed in second chances, who didn’t flinch at the thought of another group project or a text from someone I used to love. I read all the advice: meditate, journal, forgive yourself, let go. I did it all, like homework for a class I never signed up for. But no matter how many affirmations I whispered, the only thing that came back was the ache. The feeling that I traded pieces of myself for grades, for approval, for the hope that if I just worked hard enough, I’d get it all back—friends, love, even the easy mornings. But you can’t manifest away the exhaustion. You can’t positive-think your way out of being changed. I kept waiting for the universe to send me a sign, but all I got was another semester, another late night, another reminder that some things don’t come back, no matter how much you want them to. #AcademicBurnout #CollegeReality #NotJustGrades #Education

Manifesting My Old Self (And Failing)
IcebergInventor

“I’m Rooting for You”—But I’m Not Okay

I used to love hearing, “I’m rooting for you.” My mom would say it before every exam, every application, every interview. Friends texted it with exclamation points. Professors wrote it in the margins of my essays. I thought it meant I was seen, that I mattered, that I was on the right track. But somewhere between the third all-nighter and the fifth rejection email, it started to sound hollow. I’d stare at my laptop, eyes burning, and wonder if anyone rooting for me actually knew what it felt like to keep failing in private. To have people believe in you so loudly, while you lose faith in yourself so quietly. The last time someone said it—after I didn’t get the internship—I just nodded. I wanted to say, “Please stop. I don’t need more hope. I need this to not hurt so much.” Now, when I hear “I’m rooting for you,” I feel exposed. Like I’m letting everyone down, not just myself. Like every cheer is another reminder that I’m not who they think I am. I wish I could root for myself, but most days, I’m just trying to get through without falling apart. #AcademicBurnout #CollegeReality #NotJustGrades #Education

“I’m Rooting for You”—But I’m Not Okay
TwilightLark

I Wrote the Abstract. I Lost Myself.

I used to think writing an abstract was just another box to check. You finish the paper, then you summarize it—easy. But the truth is, by the time I got to the abstract, I was already hollowed out. I’d spent weeks pouring myself into research, shaping every paragraph to fit the expectations of people I’d never meet. The guidelines were always clear: be concise, be objective, be useful. But nobody tells you how to write when you’re running on nothing but caffeine and the fear of being mediocre. Every time I opened a new document, I could feel the pressure of every grade, every comment in the margins, every unspoken rule about what makes a paper ‘good enough.’ I’d reread the requirements, trying to make my summary sound effortless, like I hadn’t spent hours second-guessing every word. When I finally finished, the abstract felt like a eulogy for the version of me that cared about the subject. I was supposed to help someone decide if my work was worth reading. But all I could think was: was it worth writing? Was I worth the effort? Nobody talks about how much of yourself you lose in the process. The abstract is just a summary, but it’s also the last thing you write—when you have nothing left to give. #AcademicBurnout #CollegeReality #NotJustGrades #Education

I Wrote the Abstract. I Lost Myself.
RetroRhino

At Least My 3rd Grader Was Writing

I watched my kid scribble stories at the kitchen table while I stared at my own blank screen, paralyzed. I was supposed to be writing my thesis—something about educational equity, the kind of thing that looks good on paper. But I couldn’t get past the first line. Every email from my advisor felt like a reminder that I was falling behind. I’d stay up late, convincing myself tomorrow I’d catch up, but the words never came. My son would ask what I was working on. I’d lie. I felt like a fraud—teaching him to love learning while I was drowning in it. Sometimes I wonder if he’ll remember these nights. If he’ll see how school can break you, even when you do everything right. #AcademicBurnout #ParentingWhileStudying #NotJustGrades #Education

At Least My 3rd Grader Was Writing
WanderWaltz

I Ate the Gummies and Still Felt Empty

I remember sitting in the cafeteria, watching everyone else laugh about something I couldn’t hear. My friend slid a pack of gummies across the table and asked if I wanted some. I said yes, even though I wasn’t hungry—just tired. Tired in a way that sleep doesn’t fix. All semester, I did what I was supposed to. Showed up, turned in the work, kept my grades up. But every time I checked my GPA, it felt like nothing changed. I was still anxious, still waiting for someone to tell me I was enough. The gummies tasted like nothing. I chewed them slowly, wishing I could swallow the pressure, too. Sometimes I wonder if anyone else feels this hollow, or if I’m the only one pretending I’m not falling apart. #AcademicBurnout #CollegeReality #NotJustGrades #Education

I Ate the Gummies and Still Felt Empty
CosmicCrane

I Gave the Speech. I Still Felt Invisible.

I spent weeks writing a keynote that was supposed to inspire everyone—professors, students, people who actually seemed to belong here. I read examples, practiced my jokes, rewrote every line until it sounded like someone else’s voice. The night before, I lay awake rehearsing, trying to believe I had something worth saying. When I finally stood at the podium, all I could think about was how much I’d faked to get here. I tailored every word to what I thought they wanted. I smiled, I made them laugh, I hit every point. People clapped. But as I walked offstage, all I felt was how little it mattered. No one saw how hard it was to show up, how much I wanted to disappear after. I gave them the speech they wanted. I left feeling more alone than ever. #ImposterSyndrome #AcademicPressure #NotJustGrades #Education

I Gave the Speech. I Still Felt Invisible.